


dust to dust

by peachyteabuck



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, Heavy BDSM, Master/Pet, Punishment, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-10
Updated: 2020-05-10
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:01:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24100246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peachyteabuck/pseuds/peachyteabuck
Summary: as peggy carter’s pet, your day includes a litany of chores that must be done to perfection. anything less than that leads to, well, some unfortunate circumstances.
Relationships: Peggy Carter/Reader
Comments: 2
Kudos: 48





	dust to dust

Your heart races as you stand parallel to the walls, head down and eyes trained on the floor.

Peggy’s daily inspections have always terrified you, made you want to crawl in a hole and hide there for the rest of eternity. Even when everything went well (which it often did – you are nothing if not detail oriented), the very _thought_ of the woman finding a vase out of place or a painting crooked or an unfluffed pillow made your legs tremble.

Unable to see her, you pray your peripheral vision and hearing can pick up on the cues you need to feel safe. A small sigh of happiness, smooth movements from key points of interest to another – all signs that she would reward you with sleeping at her feet instead of in the cage, eating from her hand instead of the bowl she had your name engraved into, letting you pick what toy she used to fuck you with.

But those dreams were crushed when you heard the disapproving _mmm_ that always signals your downfall. Without looking at her, you can picture one of Peggy’s perfectly sculpted brows raised, eyes unamused and dark, painted lips pulled into a tight line.

“What is this?” Peggy snaps, grabbing your chin with one hand and wrenching your face upwards. There, millimeters from your eyes, is the pad of the forefinger on the hand not digging into the soft skin of your face. There, in the center of said pad of the forefinger not digging into the soft skin of your face, is a gathering of dust.

You immediately go to apologize for your mistake. “M-ma’am I’m so-“

“Stop,” Peggy’s words are plain and sharp – a surefire sign of trouble. She holds her hand up flat and sighs as she turns away from you. “You’ve done enough.”

Your pupils go back to tracing the grooves in the wood paneling below your feet, waiting for her next move. As the rules instruct, you follow four feet behind her, waiting for further commands. When Peggy sit herself on the dark velvet couch (the one you freshly vacuumed that morning) with grace and poise, one ankle folded behind the other like always, you follow diligently.

A simple snap catches your attention, your eyes following her perfectly manicured hands as she pants her knee twice.

You do as you’re told without hesitation, laying across her knee with one arm folding behind your back to avoid digging into her stomach while the other reaches down for Peggy’s ankle.

The woman above you tuts as she raises the black skirt, bunching it up in your hand as she traces the lace of the white panties she’d purchased for you.

“Have you ever been spanked, love?” she asks absentmindedly. Goosebumps erupt over the soft skin of your ass and thighs, skin soft and ripe for punishment. “Like _really_ spanked?”

You swallow nervously. That fear from retribution had never been something you’d had the displeasure of experiencing, something that, until now, you’d been thankful for. You’ve always been desperate (and eager) to please, doing as you were told without hesitation or complaint.

Peggy, when she met you at that job fair in your second year of college, picked up on that instantly. It’s one of the many things she loves about you, brags about when her business friends allow their eyes to linger too long when she has the over for dinner.

_“She’s so cute,” Carol cooed once as you poured her a second glass of wine. She was tempted to reach up at grope at your tits, but also did not wish to face the wrath of the woman whose house she was invited to._

_Natasha and Steve agreed silently, eyeing you as you returned to your spot in the corner of the room. You were in your “business dinner” attire – a small black dress with a thick black collar. You were permitted to wear nothing else but make up sans setting spray (if tears were to well up in your eyes and melt the mascara off your face, Peggy wanted to see)._

_“She’s as good as she looks,” Peggy smirked between sips of an expensive red – the very same Carol drank down while she eyed you like prey. “Just as perfect as I expect.”_

Peggy leaves a light _smack_ over the thin fabric, brining you back to reality. _A warning_.

“N-no Ma’am,” your voice is small as you speak, and you wish you could shrink to the same size as your words.

Hands rub over your ass, kneading the skin. You feel like a piece of meat, ready to be laid across a grill and devoured by a million hungry mouths. As another light hit is splayed across your backside, you assume the marks from cooking would be less painful than this. Peggy words feel not like fire, but something worse – more targeted.”

“Then this is going to hurt.”

She does not _ask_ if it will hurt, does not _inquire_ if you want to be hurt, does not _wonder_ whether the heated skin will teach you a lesson. Peggy does not ask you a question, therefore you say nothing in return. You just grit your teeth and ball your hands into fists and _wait_.

It’s a long while before she says another word. Whether the pause was for dramatics or for her to think of how to properly penalize you, you can’t hope to know.

“Take them off,” Peggy snaps the elastic of the underwear against your sensitive skin, causing you to yelp. It takes a long while – given one arm reminds pinned - but eventually you get the flimsy material past your knees. “Good pet.”

You exhale just a little. “T-thank you, Ma’am.”

Another long pause. Had you given her something to consider? Was she weighing your deserving of being laid across her knee in such a manner? Would your slip up go unmentioned in lieu of positive reinforcement?

_SMACK!_

You yelp as searing pain spreads throughout your muscles.

 _Apparently not_.

“What are you supposed to do?” Peggy nearly yells, voice bellowing.

_SMACK!_

Your face remains scrunched as you answer. “Anything you ask, Ma’am.”

“And what do I ask?” Her voice is the same volume as before – just as forced and chesty and _mean_.

You swallow what little spit remains on your tongue. In the back of your mouth, you can taste salty snot as you begin to cry. “You ask that I clean the house, Ma’am.”

Another hit, this time on the opposite cheek.

You can feel her breathing heavily above you, part of her enjoying the rare experience of beating you. “And is that too much for you to handle?”

Images of your training – of being locked in cuffs at your wrists and ankles, of being chained to the bed, of cleaning on your hands and knees. All of it done naked save a collar with long, sharp spikes. If it were assumed you were unable to perform the tasks Peggy expected of you, flashbacks they no longer would be.

Instead, you would be reverted to another reality, one you wish to forget.

“N-no Ma’am! Cleaning the house is not too much for me to handle!” You nearly choke on your own speech, hands clutching to Peggy’s ankle and your skirt for dear life.

All you can hear is her tutting, laying a long serious of hits to your ass as you do your best to remain still. If you fought or struggled, she’d restart the number only she knew, making your chastisement that much longer and harsher.

You expect to feel another hit as silence washes over you – you brace for the impact as her hand pulls back once more. Instead, feather-light fingertips spread over your center, dipping into you _just_ enough to gather the wetness that had formed there.

“You’re soaking my favorite skirt, little pet,” Peggy tsks. She brings the same finger that had barely been inside you to your lips. You clean them without hesitation. The woman above you sighs, disappointed. “If only you could do that to the mantel above my fireplace.”

For a second you want to defend yourself, plead your case to the judge, jury, and executioner who was drawing random patterns into the skin of your thighs. With no request for confession, though, you bite your lip and hope for compassion.

“You know,” Peggy says finally. You can hear the exasperation in her voice, the tiredness you can’t pin down. “I’ve had a simply terrible day at work. I wanted to come home, to a _clean_ home, and use my Pet to relieve some stress. _This_ ,” she pats your ass – the light touch making you twitch. “Does _not_ relieve my stress. So, you’re going to put that pretty little mouth on my pussy and eat me out until I tell you to stop. Understood?”

You gulp, whole body sagging nearly instantly. “ _Yes_ ,” you gasp. “Yes, Ma’am, I understand.”

Without further prompting, you push yourself to the ground, pulling Peggy’s shoes, pantyhose, skirt, underwear from her soft skin. Her cunt, just like yours, is nearly dripping.

Both of Peggy’s hands easily find purchase in your hair as you kiss up her folds, tongue dipping into her as two fingers find their way inside of her. It’s not long before she’s fucking her hips against your face, moaning loudly as you wrap your lips around her clit.

“ _Fuck!_ ” she moans as she comes, pulling you away after the pleasure becomes overwhelming.

You smile as you watch Peggy pant, makeup still immaculate. “Good, Ma’am?”

She smiles blissfully, moving to cradle your chin with one hand. “Yes, Pet. _Very_ good.”


End file.
